When I'm cleaning windows

Let's be clear on this, I hate cleaning windows. It's one of my least favourite things to do, and so I do it as little as possible. I hate when you think they're clean and you sit back, basking in the feeling that you've done something useful with your day, right up until the sun hits that side of your house and shows every last streak. In the 3 years I lived in my Paris flat, I think I cleaned my windows once, probably right before my Mum visited.

However, I do have certain standards and, when I realised this afternoon that I actually couldn't see out of the kitchen window, I decided something had to be done. (I didn't take a 'before' photo, I was too ashamed!) I filled my bucket, found an old t-shirt, and headed outside. It was then that I discovered there are two major disadvantages to cleaning windows in Mauritius. The first was more a question of bad timing, but the sun was directly on the window, meaning the water dried the second it touched the hot glass. Hello giant watermarks. I had to move fast.

Problem number two comes from this delightful feature of every Mauritian home - security bars. When we were house hunting I hated them. I thought I would feel like I was in prison. They've grown on me now though and I even find the ones on the doors at the front kind of cool, like an old-fashioned lift. Like the doors of a lift, these open fully, giving easy access for glass cleaning, should you be so inclined.

The kitchen is a different story. The only way you could move these would be with a crowbar, which seemed a little extreme. You just have to stick your arm between the bars (Merv will be delighted to learn that he's exempt from window cleaning as his arm would probably get stuck) and work your way up and down each space, trying not to cut your forearms in the process. It's slow, painful, and not that rewarding.

Well, they're done, I can see out again - into the neighbour's garden where his mango trees are weighed down with new fruit! - but that's just the kitchen. My parents are coming to visit in a few weeks, does that mean I have to do all the other windows in the house as well?

Tamarin and the birth of beach snobbery

Last weekend, my friends suggested we go to the beach at Tamarin for a change. It's very different from Albion as there is no coral reef separating Tamarin Bay from the ocean, and it's one of the few places in Mauritius where the waves break on the shore. A lot of the south is open sea too, but there are practically no accessible beaches and the waves crash directly onto the rocks.

It was a little cloudy when we arrived and my first thought was "Oh, it's dirty!" In fact this is not true, but the sand is grey in colour, contrasting sharply with the bright white sand and turquoise sea I've become used to. Going down to the water's edge for a paddle, I saw some floating twigs and seaweed and couldn't see the bottom, even though it was really not that deep. In rainy season, the beach is divided in two by the Rivière du Rempart, but when we went, the river dried up before reaching the bay. Most beaches in Mauritius are narrow and bordered by filao trees and car parks. From Tamarin, you get an amazing view of the Rempart mountain.

In the time Merv and I have been together, we've been fortunate enough to be able to travel quite a bit, mostly in France, but also to the UK, Turkey, Spain, and Thailand, and swimming and beaches have always been a thing we disagree on. I used to laugh at him, standing on the edge of a lake, refusing to go in because the water was muddy. I left him on the beach in Turkey while I went for a swim because the water was deemed too cold. It wouldn't even occur to him to take his swimming shorts if we went to England on holiday. He is even reluctant to use the term "beach" in Europe, preferring to refer to them as "rocky places by the sea". I always thought he was just being awkward to wind me up, but as I stood looking out over the bay at Tamarin on Sunday, I realised that I have become that person too, the beach snob who only wants to swim in crystal clear water, having left my towel on the pristine white sand. It only took me 6 months - in his defence, he spent the first 24 years of his life here! 

Six months may have changed me in many ways, but island life hasn't quite defeated the Yorkshire girl in me yet. After five minutes of hesitation, I was out there jumping around in the waves, just like I used to do in Scarborough. The water was a lot warmer too!

I also discovered that the sand in Tamarin, grey though it may be, is some of the finest sand I've ever seen. It feels like velvet. It also sticks to everything it touches and takes forever to wash out of your ears, where it inevitably ends up when you jump around in waves like these.

Happy times at Cap Malheureux

Even if you've never been to Mauritius, you may well have seen the most famous sight Cap Malheureux has to offer. It's on almost every postcard and tourist brochure ever made, and has probably inspired many a destination wedding. I'm talking about Notre Dame Auxiliatrice, the church with the red roof.

This is what it looked like when I first visited Mauritius in 2012.

To be honest, I was a bit disappointed. Obviously I wasn't expecting to see clouds like that on a tropical island, but also the church didn't look anything like the pictures I'd seen. I'd clearly just been fooled by the result of someone's Photoshop effort. From a distance it looks like there are a lot of tiles missing on the roof but, if you get a bit closer, you'll see that the roof is actually made of wood, and has suffered a lot from its exposed, seaside location.

Since that last visit, they've restored the roof, plank by plank, to its former glory. I guess they must do it quite regularly, and we just came at a bad time. In any case, now it looks more like this:

A lot of couples either get married here, or just come here to take some pretty photos after their wedding. Last time I was there, there was one lady in full white wedding dress, white sparkly beach shoes, bouquet and everything, posing for pictures on the beach. Apart from the photographer, there was another guy with her, who we assumed must be his assistant, telling the bride where to stand etc. He was wearing khaki shorts and a fluorescent green rain jacket, and carrying a backpack. As we stood watching, he put his arms around the bride and posed with her. It turned out he was the groom! They made an odd couple, that's for sure. I would have taken a photo but my camera had no battery left so you'll just have to imagine the scene.

This is the inside of the church, which I love. The altar is carved from a huge piece of rock, and the holy water font, which you can see on the left, is a large "bénitier" (clam shell).

Other than the church, there's not a lot to see in Cap Malheureux. There isn't much beach, and there are a lot of fishing boats. In fact, when the fishermen land here, they clean their fish on the beach and throw the fish guts back in the water, so it's not a place I would like to swim! You do get a great view of the "Coin de Mire" and the other islands off the north coast though.

In case you were wondering about the name Cap Malheureux (The Cape of Misfortune), it was given by the French after their defeat at the hands of the British (woo hoo!) in 1810. Mauritius was a strategic spot on the trade routes, and the British decided to invade. However, they didn't approach from the south as would be expected, but from the north where the French defence was weakest. They won and ruled the island from 1810 right up to its independence.

The kitchen garden

I've decided I'm going to grow things anyway, despite the lack of available garden, so I've made a kitchen garden, literally, in my kitchen.

I currently have 3 avocado seeds on the go, and have recently planted basil, thyme and parsley. Note the thrifty use of empty water bottles in place of plant pots. This is mainly because there's nowhere to recycle plastic here, and I hate throwing it away. Alternatively, I could have gone and thrown them over the wall into this garden, the owner would probably have been delighted.

I realise that this isn't the most exciting subject for a blog post, but I can't believe how quickly things grow here. I planted the basil on Saturday, and this was what it looked like yesterday. At this rate I'll be eating it next week! I only planted the thyme and parsley yesterday so no sign yet, but I'm sure it won't be long.

I've also just picked 16.2 kg of calebasse chinoise from the garden. Time to see if you really can store it for months because I doubt I'll get through all that by myself.

From my bedroom window I can see directly into the neighbours' gardens and this is what I see:

Two varieties of mango

Bananas!

Mango season is coming, now I just need a cunning plan to befriend my neighbours so they will share with me!

To the lighthouse

Last time I was in the UK, I got into a conversation about my new home, Albion, and happened to mention that it had a lighthouse. The person I was talking to told me an interesting story about an interview he had seen with the last lighthouse keeper in Britain and asked if the Albion lighthouse was still in operation. I had no idea and told him I would make it my mission to find out. Robin, if you're reading, this post is for you!

There are two operational lighthouses in Mauritius, but the Pointe aux Caves lighthouse in Albion is the only one on the mainland. The other one is not, as you may expect, on the Ile au Phare, but on the Ile Plate, off the northern coast. (L'Ile au Phare, or Ile aux Fouquets as it is also known, is in the south and its lighthouse has been in ruins for several years).

Our lighthouse was built in 1910 and is 97 feet high, white with two thick red bands. It sits on a rocky stretch of coast to the south of Port Louis and its signal is 2 white flashes every 15 seconds, which can be seen from up to 29 nautical miles away.

I believe it used to be open to the public, and it has information boards explaining its history and use on the walls, but it was closed after some protesters tried to hang a banner from the gallery protesting against plans for some kind of coal plant nearby. However, on a good day, you can negotiate discreetly with the guy in charge and he may let you go up there anyway. 

At the entrance to the lighthouse, there is a small shrine, presumably to pray for shipwrecked souls, or for the lighthouse keeper himself, climbing the tower on a windy day! It's not for the faint-hearted. We made it to the lamp room at the top, but a combination of howling wind, tiny, hard-to-open door, and fear of being seen meant we chickened out of going outside.

Ladder up to the lamp room

The lamp itself

High technology in this lighthouse!

The view from the windows on the way up was pretty spectacular though. This is Albion. I'm not sure which mountains they are in the background though.

The lighthouse is managed by the Mauritius Port Authority, and one man in particular who has worked on rotation between the 2 operational lighthouses for 33 years. Since 1973, it has been connected to the network of the Central Electricity Board.

The island of La Réunion also has a lighthouse. It just so happens that their lighthouse, white with one red band, is in Sainte Suzanne, the village where the other half of my family-in-law live. It's the last one on the island - there was another but it collapsed during a cyclone - and is no longer in operation. It was closed to the public when I went there last, but it is now open for visits twice a month. I will try to visit it next time I'm there.

Please Mr. Postman

Some of the first pictures I ever saw of tropical islands were in TV adverts for this well known chocolate bar.

 

Imagine my surprise (and delight!) when I came to live on a tropical island and found a house to rent on Avenue Bounty. Sadly, my street isn't named after a chocolate bar  - it's in the 'famous ships' part of Albion, and is named after HMS Bounty. Our neighbours live in places like Astrolabe, Victory, and Côte d'Emeraude, and other parts of Albion are named after birds, fish, and trees. 

When our house was built, a letter box didn't feature in the architect's plans, and when we asked for the address of the house, the landlady realised the oversight and told us she would have one installed. This is what we ended up with:

Do you see it? That tiny slit in the wall to the right of the gate? Well our postman didn't for the first few weeks - he kept wedging our post in those holes in the middle of the gate. One day I saw him doing it and went out to politely point out that, small as it is, we do have a box to put our letters in. Maybe we should have painted it red and specified what the hole was for, like this house I saw the other day.

Anyway, the postman now delivers straight into the box, with the exception of my monthly magazine which he throws over the wall as it won't fit in the box. Fortunately it's well wrapped in plastic. However, the box is so small that anything bigger than a postcard ends up looking like this. Anything important which needs to arrive in an un-crumpled state has to be sent to Merv's Dad or to our friends with a normal sized letter box.

None of the houses in Albion have numbers. I'm not sure exactly why, but think it's to do with the way the land was divided up, and the fact that there are still a lot of vacant plots between constructions. It does mean though, that for your post to arrive safely, either you need to introduce yourself to the postman and make sure he remembers your name, or you give your house its own name. Since it's not our house to name, we rely on the postie and his memory and, so far, we seem to be doing okay, despite our intial fear that "Avenue Bounty, Albion, Mauritius" was a bit vague.

The people at the post office obviously had the same fear as us, and they've decided to 'modernise' their postal system by assigning postcodes. We were supposed to receive a card like this to tell us our postcode but it never arrived, making me wonder if we really are doing okay with our post!

For anyone who wants to know because they plan to write me a nice letter, our postcode is 91006. Remember though, no big envelopes. I also have a story about the parcel system, but I'll save that for another time.